Why, we'll be told
we can't tote our guns!"
"They're sayin' that now," replied Frenchy. "Up in Buffalo, Smith,
who's now marshal, makes yu leave `em with th' bartenders."
"I'd like to see any two-laigged cuss get my guns If I didn't want
him to!" began Hopalong, indignant at the idea.
"Easy, son," cautioned Buck. "Yu would do what th' rest did because
yu are a square man. I'm about as hard-headed a puncher as ever
straddled leather an' I've had to use my guns purty considerable, but
I reckons if any decent marshal asked me to cache them in a decent
way, why, I'd do it. An' let me brand somethin' on yore mind-I've
heard of Smith of Buffalo, an' he's mighty nifty with his hands. He
don't stand off an' tell yu to unload yore lead-ranch, but he ambles
up close an' taps yu on yore shirt; if yu makes a gunplay he naturally
knocks yu clean across th' room an' unloads yu afore yu gets yore
senses back. He weighs about a hundred an' eighty an' he's shore got
sand to burn."
"Yah! When I makes a gun play she plays! I'd look nice in Abilene or
Paso or Albuquerque without my guns, wouldn't I? Just because I totes
them in plain sight I've got to hand `em over to some liquor-wrastler?
I reckons not! Some hip-pocket skunk would plug me afore I could wink.
I'd shore look nice loping around a keno layout without my guns, in
th' same town with some cuss huntin' me, wouldn't I? A whole lot of
good a marshal would a done Jimmy, an' didn't Harris get his from a
cur in th' dark?" shouted Hopalong, angered by the prospect.
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